


Burdens Of The Soul

by pan2fel



Series: Of Beasts And Men [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV, Final Fantasy XV: Kingsglaive
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Braids & Tattoos, Culture & Heritage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, nyxulricweek2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-04-27 05:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14418576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan2fel/pseuds/pan2fel
Summary: Direct continuation ofPetrichor, but can be read as stand-alone.This is my contribution to Day 1 of theNyx Ulric Week 2018, exploring Galahdian culture and heritage, focusing on Nyx's braids and tattoos.---Nyx tries to find himself again after months spent in the shift. The rituals of his people help him along the way.





	Burdens Of The Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my amazing beta, Jo, for letting me drag her into a fandom she doesn't even know. I love you!

The first few days were a blur. After Nyx woke up properly for the first time, he continued to be in and out of consciousness for days, his body too exhausted from the recent hardships of the last few months, as well as the last few days, to stay awake for long. The journey with Cor had helped him overcome the worst of his captivity, at least physically, until he had been shot the day of their return. Days blended together and Nyx slowly regained the ability to stay awake for longer periods of time. It made him restless, the constant vigilance and movement of the past months still deeply ingrained in his bones and mind. He just couldn't stop. He needed to do something, to be somewhere; but he knew, deep down, that he had reached his goal already - the coeurl inside was unhappy - and as a consequence, Nyx was unhappy.

The first time he noted the many changes, was when he snuck out of bed and into the adjacent bathroom, set on taking his first shower in months. With the holes in his body he needed to move carefully and slowly, and unfortunately he couldn't miss a glance into the mirror. He faltered at the changes and suddenly realized what his heart had been yearning for all those days spent with bedrest. His hair was a mess and he could probably be happy that they hadn't cut it off while he was asleep.

Eyes full of sorrow stared back out of the mirror and he lifted his hand slowly, dragging his finger through ruined braids, noting all the missing beads with the clench of his jaw. It wasn't the only change, however. His fingers traced the new black line encircling his throat. He let his eyes wander deeper, following the lines. There were new circles around his wrists and with a grimace he tried to pull off the shirt somebody had given to him. It had hurt putting it on the first time and it didn't hurt any less now, but he needed to see. His heart beat frantically in his chest, a dark premonition hanging over his head. When the shirt snagged on his cast he was close to violently ripping it off, barely able to keep himself from panicking in the process. He had to take a deep breath before he could continue. The shirt fell to the tiles, followed by his bandages shortly after.

His back was a wild mixture of angry scars and several thin, black lines, clearly indicating the wounds he had taken after they had forced him to shift. Nyx bared his teeth. Wounds were a complicated mess with being a shifter. If they healed while one was still shifted, they became edged into your being, into your soul. The coeurl inside healed, pushing the marks of the soul outwards. They became visible to everybody in the form of unremarkable tattoos, less obvious than scars, speaking of deliberation instead of trauma. People outside Galahd didn't know that. But then again, people outside Galahd didn't know a lot about their culture at all. Nyx could only take it as a blessing. He wasn't afraid of scars and the black lines only served as a reminder that he wasn't invulnerable, even in the form he was blessed with by the storm. His fragile human body might not have been able to endure what the coeurl could. Its scars were part of him now, as they were part of the beast. It would heal deep inside his chest, the scars of the body giving way to new pattern in its pelt. At least that was what he had been told by others. He had never seen himself in a mirror during his shift.

He looked up, meeting his own eyes again in the mirror and took a deep breath. This is the new me, he thought, and snorted at his own thoughts shortly after, eyes roaming over the bullet holes and scars that were new to his human form as well. With another steadying breath he got rid of his clothes and stepped into the shower.

It took him a long time to untangle his knotted hair with only one hand, the other useless under the protective magic shield. He absolutely did not feel bad about this, especially not when he finally was able to get rid of all the smells that had rankled his nose since he had woken up. The coeurl approved.

When he came back into his room it was to a very distressed and exasperated looking nurse. She chewed him out and all he could do was throw her one of his sheepish smiles while she re-bandaged his wounds and pushed him back into bed. He was tired after his little expedition, but he needed to talk to Libertus first. There was an itch in his very being, an itch he couldn't scratch without some help first. He clenched his good hand around the few beads he had been able to rescue and waited, watching the shadows growing longer and longer. His patience paid off and the tension, he hadn't noticed, drained from his shoulders when the loud figure of his friend pushing open the door with his back, still talking to someone in the hallway. When he turned around a grin spread over his features. "Hey, hero, brought you something," he said and threw a small, rattling box onto the bed. Nyx eyes followed its arc and he picked it up with nimble fingers. He traced the pattern carved into the box, before looking up. "Thanks, Libertus." His chest was swelling with emotions, the itch growing stronger but more bearable at the same time. He would be able to continue his journey soon. "I've got your back," Libertus grins and flops down in the chair beside the bed. "Didn't know you would be awake just yet, saw you sleeping a lot in the last few days. I might even have considered kicking you out of bed. I just couldn't bear to watch the princess act anymore." Nyx snorted. "Yeah, right, as if you would have been able to wake me with that face." They continued to banter for a while, worry clear as day in Libertus' posture and eyes, but he didn't pry and Nyx was thankful for that. His friend left soon after with a pointed look at the box still clutched in Nyx's hand.

For a while he just sat there, staring at the patterned box, deep in thought. The emotional impact of what he was about to do weighted heavy on his mind. A familiar memory flashed before his eyes, the scream of his sister, as if it had happened yesterday. His hands clenched and his lips thinned. "You are not forgotten, I am not yet done grieving," he mumbled to himself, knowing that he was lying. He had forgotten, had lost himself in the mind of the beast months ago. The time as a coeurl was blank at worst and blurry at best. He couldn't remember the last conscious thought he had had, before instinct took over, ruling most of his days. Even though he liked to think of them as separate entities, the man and the beast, they were really not. They were one, they lived as one, they breathed as one and they thought as one. He was just as much human in beast form as he was beast in human form, there was no line separating them. But after months in his shift, priorities tended to change. Human sorrows became less severe, instinct and survival more important. The urge to roar with the storm had been overwhelming and he had had no other choice then to give in. He had still been conscious enough to find his way, to interact with the first human being he had seen after being captive for so long. Even if he gave into his instincts, he would always be different from simple animals, always know who he was and where he wanted to go. But he still had forgotten and the guilt of that thought washed over him in a paralyzing wave. His shoulders tensed and his brows drew together, heavy under the onslaught of emotions. He took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes again, not even remembering when he had closed them.

Nyx opened the box, letting the few beads he had left fall into the opened lid before rummaging through its contents, looking for the ones he had lost. His hands trembled. It would be tough getting it done with broken fingers, but he had walked on that paw for weeks, he could endure another few minutes. This could not wait.

He pushed a few beads between his lips, untangling his hair with one hand before the painful, but familiar steps, ingrained in his hands, took over. The need for this deeply personal ritual had been itching inside him for days, unrecognized, until he had seen himself in the mirror today. It was part of each and everyone of them, even more so since they had to abandon Galahd. It was part of their culture and part of the way they connected with the world around them. It depicted his personal journey, spoke of things important to him that weighed down his soul and lifted it up at the same time. He couldn't be without it for one moment longer.

He braided three entwined strands, adorned with only one single, simple bead, held together by small leather strips. They spoke of grief and loss, honoring the ones he had buried and the ones he had been unable to protect. The braid weighed heavy on him, but at the same time relief flooded his mind. Relief at feeling it again, as if a part of him snapped back into place.

He grunted as he struggled with the immobility of his fingers and the position of his arms, putting a clear strain on the still healing bullet wound. A shuffling sound made his eyes snap up, watching the door with suspicion. The coeurl was at ease, as Cor revealed himself, stepping out of the shadows.

"Were you standing outside the whole time?" Nyx asked around the beads between his lips, unbothered by the interruption of privacy, sweat beading on his forehead. Cor only gave him an unreadable look, before gingerly sitting down in the chair beside him.

"Need a hand?"

"No, I have to take that journey alone," he said, while his fingers continued to gather more strands of hair.

"Now? While your fingers are still broken? Do you want me to leave again?"

"Yes...No," he said, concentrating completely on what his hands where doing and only half listening to the conversation.

"I see." Cor didn't have to add 'idiot', for Nyx to hear it. But who was Cor to judge, really.

Nyx's fingers felt out the complicated pattern of the second braid, thick and full of beads, connecting him to his brothers and sisters in arms. The family he had found, unrelated by blood, but linked by purpose and brotherhood. It spoke of those willing to fight by his side. He had to pause several times, panting for breath, before he could continue on this particular journey. The pain in his hand increased as he forced himself through the process. The splints slowed him down, preventing the fingers of his right hand to bend the way he needed them, even though he tried. It was hard work finding a way around it. His whole body was tense, sweat was running down his spine and he tried his hardest to breath through the pain, beads still clutched between his lips. Every now and again he had to stop, had to lower his arms, collect new beads and regain his senses. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, but he couldn't leave it unfinished, the burden and the feeling of guilt too big. After each break it got harder to start again, his hands cramping, his shoulder screaming at him to stop, but he gritted his teeth and powered on. Determination was the only thing keeping him going.

With each braid he felt more whole, but when his fingers brushed over the beginnings of the braid of the lost, his mind faltered. He lifted his eyes for the fraction of second, meeting Cor's calm gaze and thinking about his last months. On his way back there had been no hesitation, no doubt, that Insomnia was his goal, that this was where he belonged. And even though he would always be a son of the storm, he had found a place he called home. He wasn't lost anymore. Nyx let the loose strands glide from his fingers, realizing, for the first time, that this wasn't part of him anymore. He exhaled slowly, before he continued.

The itching in his fingers lifted, the tension bled out of his shoulders, even though his arms were shaking. When he was done he had three more braids to show for, one depicting him as a warrior among his people, as the one who took up the fight when others could not, set to protect what was in front of him and never backing down. With the second he showed gratitude to be blessed by the storm with the form of his coeurl, to be granted power beyond measure and being trusted enough to use it wisely.

He looked up, meeting Cor's curious eyes. The other watched him carefully, his eyes trailing down the new braids, stopping at the absence of scars around his neck, frowning at the new tattoo, following the line of his shoulders, taking in the still bandaged wrists, before raising his eyes again. He had clearly drawn his own conclusions.

"So, why no help?" Cor asked, sitting back into the chair with more ease than he should have.

"It's a deeply personal journey you have to complete yourself, under your own strength and willpower. Nobody can take this burden from you, as nobody can live your life," Nyx answered honestly and pressed his eyes together against the pain. He swallowed thickly, nausea finally catching up with him.

"What do they mean?"

"That the Kingsglaive love the Crownsguards and that there are no animosities between them, of course," he smirked, while Cor rolled his eyes, accepting that it was too personal to share for the moment.

He closed the lid of the box with shaking fingers. The soft click of the lock felt like a shot in the silent room. With it closed the overwhelming presence of his ancestors was gone and all tension left his body. Nyx carefully lowered himself back down onto the bed with a grunt. The victory of his mind over his body mixed with exhaustion was a dizzying rollercoaster, that left him reeling. The rushing in his ears became almost overwhelming, his sister's scream echoing through his mind. A hand landed on his arm, grounding him in the here and now and he took a steadying breath. He met Cor's eyes and smiled, his hand unconsciously finding the last braid he had done, tightening around it. It held only one meaning. Sister.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](https://whumpershaven.tumblr.com) to chat.


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